


What could have been

by TheElvenCyclops



Series: Assassin's creed oneshots [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, F/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheElvenCyclops/pseuds/TheElvenCyclops
Summary: I have no excuse for this, I just wanted to write some angst.Anne commits mariticide and an assassin Sarah makes an appearance.
Relationships: Shay Cormac/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Assassin's creed oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581157
Kudos: 3





	What could have been

Versaille was bustling with activity, countless men and women in full court regalia strutting around in an unspoken dance of manners and protocol. Shay hated them all. The horrid cloud of perfumes all mixed into an acrid stench that assaulted his nose and made it difficult to breathe without coughing, but he pushed through all the same, what he needed was here. He’d discovered Charles Dorian was set to meet one of his acquaintances here to discuss some business, and with any luck, he’d have the precursor box on him. After being saved from the clutches of Parisian thugs, Benjamin Franklin had smuggled him in here through the kitchens. The old dog had charmed the scullery maids into silence as he wove through the barren servant quarters. The naked walls and scuffed floors gradually became more and more luxurious as he grew closer to the salons and halls where the nobility dwelled. Now he stalked the gilded halls, dodging this way and that to avoid the prissy nobles and their guards. A girl with a head of Scarlet hair zipped past him, tailed by a boy about her age. He watched them pass by before continuing on. Shay stopped to let a pair of women pass, one was older, short and stout with blonde hair that was put up in intricate curls and buns that must have taken hours. The other was much younger, maybe in her early twenties, she had dark brown hair and eyes to match. Something about her looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen her. The girl looked over at Shay as she passed and her smile died when their eyes met like she recognized him as well. Her friend was ignorant of this as they walked on, turning the corner and out of sight. Shay moved on and kept his eyes peeled as he walked, keeping an eye out for Dorian. Not five minutes later he spotted him, farther down the hall, facing away from Shay, was Charles Dorian. All other thoughts suddenly faded into the background. For the moment he was a hunter with a single purpose. Shay slowly moved down the hallway towards Dorian, careful not to let him see him coming. Luckily he was faced away from him for most of the journey, talking to someone Shay didn’t recognize. He stood off to the side of the hall as Dorian and his companion began to walk. Over the din of the crowd, Shay overheard Dorian speak. 

“Gentleman, I will protect this artifact with my very life,” he said.  _ A poor choice of words,  _ Shay thought as he followed a safe distance behind them. His associate turned left and walked down the hall, leaving Dorian alone in the crowd. He stopped in front of a chair and looked around like he was expecting someone. “Arno?” he called. “Where have you gone?” Shay wasn’t sure who this Arno was and he didn’t have the time to find out. Shay rushed up to Dorian as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion from the surrounding crowd. He twirled Dorian around and before he could react Shay sank his hidden blade into his chest. Dorian let out a choked gasp as Shay discreetly lowered him into the chair. 

“You!” he muttered. “You’re the traitor!”. The crowd remained ignorant of the murder that was taking place right under their noses as Shay responded. 

“I’m just finishing old business,” he said as he kneeled down to Dorian’s level to search his coat. It didn’t take him long to find the box tucked away in a pocket. Dorian was huffing and wheezing now, blood beginning to seep out between his fingers. 

“Old Connor and his assassins…” he had to stop to catch his breath. “The American revolution undid your Templar business.” Shay’s brow furrowed for a moment. What happened in the colonies had been a disaster for the Templars. The death of Grandmaster Kenway had ended any hope of gaining influence there. 

“Then maybe,” Shay whispered to the dying man, “We should start a revolution of our own.” Dorian looked horrified as Shay stood up and walked away. He didn’t look back but he heard people yelling. They must have discovered Dorian’s injuries. Somebody walked into him as he went back down the hallway. He looked over to see those same big, brown eyes from earlier. The girl’s back and shoulders were stiff and her brow was in knots. Shay did his best to soften his demeanor that had been hardened over the years. He smiled and nodded down at her. He only spoke when another scream echoed from down the hall. 

“You should go, Madamoiselle,” he said. “Things that elicit that kind of sound are not things a young lady should see.” she nodded and scurried away back down the hallway she came, like she just needed to get away from him. Shay turned and continued to flee from his crime, all the way he wondered why she looked so damn familiar. He left Versaille and hopped back on his horse. He’d ride to Paris and deliver it to Germain. If Lee was half as competent as Kenway was he’d have sent the manuscript to him as well. The ride back to Paris wasn’t as smooth as the ride to Versaille was. The rain had pelted him throughout the journey and the few breaks in the weather were filled with cold, bitter winds. It was dark when he arrived in Paris, people had squirreled themselves away in their homes to avoid the cold and crime that stalked the streets. Shay entered the empty safe house on the outskirts of the city. It was a largely barren building, with a few beds and a table, little more. Shay couldn’t bring himself to care, his entire body felt heavy and was aching. He was getting too old for this, he thought bitterly. He plopped down on one of the threadbare mattresses, the box still tucked away in his coat, and let sleep take him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but when his eyes snapped open he heard the distinct sound of the rusty doorknob being opened echoing through the silence of nighttime. He pretended to be asleep as they crept in. Shay was facing away from them and couldn’t see, but he counted two pairs of footsteps approaching him. One of them was ahead of the other, he thought. He originally planned to wait until they got closer but then he heard a hidden blade being deployed and his plan changed. 

“Sarah, no!” one of them cried as Shay leaped out of bed just in time to dodge her blade. He drew his swords and readied himself to fight. Sunlight crept in through the fogged windows, letting in just enough light for him to see his attackers. He recognized the first one, she had the same hair and eyes as the girl from Versaille, except now instead of court finery, she donned an assassin’s robes, tanned leather dyed a dark red. She must have been there to stop him. She had her hidden blade deployed and ready along with a sword in her opposite hand. He looked towards the door and his blood froze. There, near the door, with her weapons drawn, was a woman in her mid-forties, the same age as Shay, with jet black hair that was streaked with gray and a pair of striking blue eyes that bored into his soul. She was just as beautiful as she was when he met her twenty years ago. 

_ And she was here to kill him _

“Annie?” he choked. She didn’t have time to respond before Sarah took another swing at him. He blocked it easily, twisting his sword to wrench hers out of her grip. When Sarah’s sword came loose from her hands, Anne leaped in to defend her. 

“Stay behind me!” she ordered. Sarah complied, having nothing but her blade to defend herself with. A familiar feeling settled just beneath Shay’s ribcage as she stared him down. 

“This doesn’t have to happ’n, Anne!” Shay begged. “Just go home!”. Anne shook her head. 

“I can’t, Shay, not while you have the box!” she said. His eyes darted between her and Sarah, waiting for one of them to make a move. Even after all these years, he couldn’t bring himself to attack her. Luckily, she wouldn’t force him to make the first move. She lifted her sword to swing and he lifted his own to block it. The sound of metal clashing rang in their ears as they fought. Two experienced fighters dodging, parrying, and swinging in an almost dance they’d learned over decades of training and practice. Shay, though, had a little more practice fighting Assassins than Anne had. He waited for an opening in her defense before knocking her sword out of her hands, sending it clattering across the floor. 

“Mother!” Sarah cried.  _ Mother? _ Shay wondered. He suddenly realized her age and his stomach sank. _ Oh, No. She couldn’t be… _ Shay was too busy fending off Sarah’s vicious onslaught to follow that train of thought. She didn’t even have a sword, she was just hacking and slashing at him with her hidden blade. Shay was so preoccupied with Sarah that he hadn’t noticed Anne going for her sword. By the time he realized what she was doing she was already armed. He shoved Sarah away from him to make room to block Anne’s attack, but Sarah twisted his wrist and drove her hidden blade through his forearm. Pain shot up his arm as the blood started to pour, he didn’t block Anne’s blade in time and it swiped across his chest, leaving a long, bloody slash across the front of his chest that was immediately followed up with Anne’s hidden blade sinking into his abdomen. His swords fell from his hands and clattered to the floor as his legs buckled beneath him. Anne held onto him and carefully lowered him to the floor, keeping his head supported with one of her hands as the other searched his coat for the precursor box. She pulled the box from his coat and looked to Sarah, who was standing over them. 

“Take this back to monsieur Chapheau,” she said. Sarah carefully took the box from her mother before she glared down at Shay. 

“And what about him?” she asked. The venomous way she talked about him made his chest ache. Anne glanced down at Shay before looking back to her daughter. 

“I’ll take care of it,  зайка, just go.” Sarah briefly hesitated before turning to leave. She disappeared out the door, not bothering to close it behind her. Shay turned his head back to look up at Anne. 

“Kind of figured it’d end like this, eventually.” he groaned. 

“I tried, Shay,” She said through the beginnings of tears. “I tried,” Shay had to close his eyes. If he had to watch her cry he’d end up crying himself. She had tried, they both did. In those first years after he left the assassins after he stole the manuscript, Anne would track him down independent of the assassins and try to talk him back into returning, begging him to return if not for her then for their daughter. He couldn’t have returned, no matter how desperately he wanted to. They’d kill him without a doubt, especially after what happened with Kassegowasse. They went in circles for years, her begging him to return to the assassins and him begging her to leave, deep down he knew she’d never leave the assassins, but it didn’t stop him from trying. Eventually, she stopped showing up. 

“We both did, love,” he said. Blood was beginning to pool beneath them. He felt like he might throw up when he saw it and his head was starting to swim. He opened his eyes again to see her face. She’d changed since he’d last seen her. She’d acquired some fine wrinkles around her eyes, forehead, and cheeks, and strands of gray shot up from the roots of her hair. She wore different robes than the ones she wore when they first met. But otherwise, she was the same woman he’d married twenty years ago. He reached over and took her hand, tenderly running his thumb over her knuckles. 

“M’sorry, love,” he said. “For everythin’,” in some ways, he meant what he said. He didn’t regret stopping the assassins, if they had been left alone they would have killed countless innocents, but he was sorry for leaving her, for breaking her heart and leaving their daughter without her father. Anne took a shaky breath and pulled her hand away from him. He groaned when a new bolt of pain shot through him. 

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. Her accent made all her words sweet as honey to him, no matter how bitter they actually were. She cupped his face with her free hand and brought her face down to kiss him. He knew what was going to happen the moment her hand met his face, the cold steel of her hidden blade brushing against his neck. He didn’t bother fighting it, with the wounds he’s already sustained, he’d die either way. When their lips met he brought his hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull and for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to wonder what could have been. After a few seconds, she pulled away, and just as he’d expected, her hidden blade deployed and sliced through his neck. He coughed and wheezed as blood poured from him. He suddenly couldn’t seem to get enough air. Anne was openly weeping now, she pulled him closer to her and held him as life slowly ebbed away.

**Author's Note:**

> зайка- Bunny
> 
> angsty AU time, Yay!


End file.
